Tattooed Secrets
by Grey-Rain-Cloud
Summary: Rough tester! "She looked like a Faerie, with icy blue eyes that had neither pupil nor whites, and red hair had many strands of the same pale blue as her eyes, like it couldn't decide what color it liked better. Her skin was pale, and her blue spider web like veins stood out starkly. The veins at the little girls wrists looked like lightning struck trees—beautiful but desolate."


**Tattooed Secrets**

_Prologue_

Just the Beginning

Magnus stared at the woman in front of him. He stared at her damp red hair, pale freckled face, and shadowed eyes. But most of all he stared at the little girl she was carrying, who couldn't be more than three, wrapped up in a blue blanket. The little girl looked like a Faerie, with her icy blue eyes that had neither pupil nor whites, and her red hair—just like the woman's—had many strands of the same pale blue as her eyes, like it couldn't decide what color it liked better and was going to war. Her skin was pale as snow, and her blue spider web like veins stood out starkly. The veins at the little girls wrists looked like lightning struck trees—beautiful but desolate.

"Jocelyn Morgenstern." Magnus greeted.

"I've recently started using Fray instead." She said, "I've come to ask you a favor Magnus Bane."

* * *

Jocelyn watched her daughter play on the swings. Clary had recently turned four, and seemed to have more energy than she knew what to do with. Jocelyn had only recently started to take her daughter to public places; she had been worried about what the Mundanes would see. If they would find it odd that Clary had blue and red hair, or that her eyes were just a solid and icy blue. Her fears seemed to be unfounded though, because the Mundanes eyes seemed to slide right past Clary. Almost as if she wasn't there.

When Jocelyn had given birth to her daughter and had looked at her for the first time, she had had a terrible flashback to when she had first held her son, Jonathan. She knew that Valentine had done more of his twisted experiments on her daughter, just like he had with Jonathan, and though Jocelyn loved Clary she could not help but think that she was not meant to be like she was. She was not meant to have Faerie blood. She—and Jocelyn hated to think this—was an abomination. It had been harder when Clary was a baby, because Jocelyn was still stinging from the horror that she had not saved her daughter as she thought she had. But as Clary grew and she obtained her own personality, Jocelyn found that her smiles had become less strained and more genuine. She loved her daughter, even if she wasn't what she had hoped for—a little girl with her red hair and green eyes who loved to draw and read and was innocent to the Shadow World.

Clary did like to draw though, and she loved it when Jocelyn read to her before bed. But she was not ignorant of the Shadow World, because how could she be when she looked like she did? Jocelyn's hopes and plans had been dashed as soon as her little girl had opened her eyes. So Jocelyn was forced to tell her daughter things that she wished she didn't, like how her father was evil and so was her brother. She was forced to tell Clary of Shadowhunters and Warlocks and Vampires and Werewolves and Faeries and Demons. But Jocelyn would do her very best to keep her as separated from them as possible—just because Clary knew of Shadowhunters did not mean that Jocelyn would allow her to become one.

Clary could be on the sidelines, an unknown protector of the Mortal Cup she now carried with her always. That would be Jocelyn's greatest regret too though, that she had charged Clary with protecting the Mortal Cup. The logic of it though was brilliant—who would think that a little girl had the Mortal Instrument? Certainly not Valentine—and with Magnus' help there were only three people who knew where the cup resided and only one could see it. It was strategic and smart and made Jocelyn feel awfully guilty.

Her cellphone rang. "Hello?"

"Is this Jocelyn Fray?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"You applied for a job last month…"

And so Jocelyn turned from her view of her daughter. She had applied for many jobs and this was her first call back. She desperately needed money if she was going to support herself and her daughter.

Turning around was a mistake, one she would regret.

* * *

A tall man with silver-white hair and dark eyes walked up behind Clary, who had gotten off the swing and was now attempting to make a sandcastle in the sandbox.

Clary never saw him.

He pressed a chloroform soaked rag against Clary's nose and mouth, and she struggled blindly and futilely against her unknown captor for a moment before falling unconscious. The man picked her up and carried her off with not even a whisper of noise.

Jocelyn never saw him.

When Jocelyn turned back to the playground with a smile on her face, happy because she had gotten an interview, and she didn't see her daughter, she was confused. Her heart filled with dread.

"Clary?" Her daughter was not one to wander off. She knew about the danger in the world.

"Clarissa!"

"Clary! Has anyone seen my daughter?! CLARY!"

* * *

The doorbell of the institute rang. It was early; Alexander and Isabelle had just woken up and were sleepily eating their breakfast. They both perked up considerably when the loud ringing sounded throughout the Institute, thinking that something exciting was going to happen. That was why they abandoned their buttered toast and orange juice, following Hodge who met up with Maryse—holding baby Maxwell—and Robert.

They crowded into the elevator and slowly made their way down. Alexander and Isabelle were whispering quietly, most likely speculating who would be at the door. Maxwell was fussing and Maryse looked just about fed up. Robert didn't appear to notice.

Once out of the elevator Robert walked slightly ahead of the rest of them. He swung the Institute door open wide, and Isabelle looked around him. Hodge and Maryse could see what—rather who—was on the other side of the door. A little Faerie girl with a mixture of red and pale blue hair, and solid blue eyes. She wore a light yellow dress that had several rips and went to her ankles, was barefoot and shivering; her hair was a curly mess, with leaves and twigs tangled in it. She looked as if she had been running from something. She carried a black duffle bag on her shoulders that looked to be much too heavy for such a small girl. She was maybe seven, and her wide eyes looked haunted and caged. She had blood on her hands.

"And what business does one of the fey have with Shadowhunters?" Robert asked.

"Nothing," the girl replied, "as I'm not one of the fey. My name is Seraphina Amalia Herondale. My father was Stephan William Herondale and my mother was a Faerie. Nephilim blood is dominant. I've come to request sanctuary."

Maryse sucked in a breath. Hodge twitched. Even Robert was startled, as shown by his eyes widening slightly. Alexander, who had been standing behind the adults awkwardly, looked at his mother curiously. He shifted from foot to foot, wanting to see the girl who had made his parents and Hodge so shocked but also feeling too timid to push his way through like Isabelle was. He scowled to himself and forced himself to weave between the tall adult legs, barely brushing against them, until he was beside his father. He looked at Seraphina like he had never seen anything quite like her. Which of course, he hadn't. His parents had never introduced him to Faeries or other Downworlders. He hadn't been aware that they were quite so short.

She looked at him, and Alexander thought that her eyes were interesting in their paleness. They looked frightened, sure, but there was nothing mean that he could see, so he thought that she would be okay. He had no need of another sister, but maybe she could be a friend instead. Someone he could talk too. Maybe she would even play with Isabelle sometimes so he could have alone time where he could just read or practice his archery without interruption. He decided to introduce himself. "My names Alexander Lightwood."

They both smiled timidly at each other.


End file.
